The Royale: a theatrical knockout
19 Oct 2018

by Drew Rowsome - Photos by Cylla von Tiedemann

While trying to find out who coined the phrase "sweet science" to refer to boxing, I came across a isport.com quote that works just as well: "Depending on the viewer, boxing can be seen as a violent, barbaric sport or a beautiful and artistic display of athleticism." The Royale revels in both the violence and the beauty as well as adding on a layer of poetic mysticism and a dose of harsh political commentary. The final effect is a sucker punch, luring one in before delivering a knockout blow.

While playwright Marco Ramirez (Orange is the New Black) and director Guillermo Verdecchia (Animal Farm, Flashing Lights, A Line in the Sand, The Art of Building a Bunker) cleverly solve the problem of presenting boxing's extreme physicality without resorting to visual gimmicks, they also use the rhythms of fist against flesh, or foot against ground, glove on glove, fist on punching bag, to punctuate and propel the dialogue. The sound and motion meld into a symphonic beat-driven whirl with a relentless drive. We begin being cajoled into caring who wins a boxing match, we end unsure just what winning means.

Jay "The Sport" Jackson is the "Negro Heavyweight Champion" and he wants to fight a white opponent to become the Heavyweight Champion. In the era of Jim Crow, it is a dangerous ambition. And a noble one. Seamlessly The Royale draws the audience into the debate, how much is one willing to pay to be right? Giant flashbulbs blind all, half paparazzi, half potential gunshots. Dion Johnstone plays Jackson with not only impressive physical stamina (he barely leaves the boxing ring that is the stage) but also a shrewd calculated wit. He has charm to burn with a stylish half smile that never states what could offend, but always speaks truth. Ducking and feinting instead of throwing a verbal punch.

Johnson's first opponent and then sparring partner is Christef Desir. The two men move in a pas de deux of punches, touches and footwork. They earn each others' respect and demonstrate not only the beauty of the male form but how horrifying it is that the two are stripped and put on display in combat. There is a metaphor of bear fights and stunt casting threaded throughout The Royale and we feel the pain of being an object, disposable, as were/are all poc, specifically before Jackson's bout. Only one costume change takes place offstage, we watch the men go from near naked to clothed and back, all for our delectation, the demands of the plot, and their objectification.

Alexander Thomas plays the coach who stays on the sidelines, almost a chorus to the vocal lines, until he roars into a monologue that situates the dilemma in the universal instead of the specific. Diego Matamoros (Ma Rainey's Black Bottom) is the manager torn at the heart of the contradiction, Jackson is a commodity to be sold, Jackson is also a friend. The stakes are even higher for Sabryn Rock (Fun Home, Obeah Opera, Once on This Island) who sees the danger that Jackson refuses to acknowledge and goes toe to toe with the heavyweight seemingly without fear of him. They are all star turns firmly grounded in the powerful flow of the words and the beats.

Boxing is of course also able to carry a heavy amount of metaphor and Ramirez doesn't hesitate to slather it on. Fortunately the words, staging and performances are all so strong that he could have risked even a few more without fear of collapse. The Royale moves at the speed of a prizefighter, electronic ambient mood enhancers rubbing against organic beats, voices flowing and interrupting and never daring to harmonize, and always fists raised, ready to strike or defend. The ending is a rare pause and the entire theatre exhaled in unison before rising to their feet. A stunning amount of artistry layered so that a primal punch can hit home.